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Then I have other memories, that do not pertain to him molesting me. Other memories that are almost just as bad. I remember walking in on him choking the life out of my sister with a blow drying cord, and being scared that this was going to be the time where he was going to kill her. I remember him twisting my other sister's arm behind her back and straddling her on the bed until she apologized to him, I knew that he was going to break it, and wondering if we could sneak her to the hospital if he did break her arm. Then there were the less serious things, like when he got mad at our puppy because he jumped on me, and he kicked it so hard that it died soon after. I remember feeling so bad because I knew that if I wouldn't have cried when he jumped on me then daddy wouldn't have killed it. Then there are those memories, the memories of when he would abuse me, those are the worst I think.
So, lets see which one should I use, should I use the time that we were alone at the house, and he wanted me to come into his room so we could take a nap together. Of course instead of taking a nap, he wanted to play his sick games. Instead of falling asleep, he straddled me on his lap. Should I use the time that he placed me on his lap in his recliner, or maybe the times that he would come into my room tonight. Should I use the time when I remember him being on top of me in my bed, still not sure how that one ended. Gosh, how many times were there in my room, how many different times have I remembered with him, how do I choose.
I guess I am going to use the memory of when my dad first went too far. I mean I guess he went too far the moment his hand seemed to 'accidentally' rub against me when he was tickling me and tucking me in at night. I was able to tell myself that he didn't mean anything by that. Though, I was not sure why, it felt wrong to me, and uncomfortable, it didn't seem right for a dad to touch his daughter that way, but after all he was just playing, it was an accident, he didn't mean anything by it. I could tell myself that at the time.
Still, there was that one point where there was no confusion. There was a point in time that I knew he wasn't coming into my room at night to give me a hug, to tuck me in, no he was coming into my room so that he could touch me, and do those things that I did not like, that I hated, there was a time that I feared it, dreaded it. There was a point in time where he no longer used the tucking me in thing as an excuse to do what he wanted to do. I guess I will use the first time that it happened, the first time where I knew that it was not an 'accident.' He sit on the edge of my bed as normal, I was not expecting it, though, not expecting what he was going to do. He didn't tickle me, he didn't tuck me in, his hand didn't accidentally rub against me.
No, it was different. He rubbed my hair, and the side of my face, it seemed sweet at first, but then I remember him tracing my lips with his thumb and pushing his thumb between my lips and into my mouth, and me wondering what the hell he was doing, and what the hell I was supposed to do??!! I don't remember what happened between that and the next thing I remember, but I remember him placing that same thumb on the inside the leg of my panties, and then inside of me. I remember how painful it was and how foreign it felt, I was not expecting it, but I remember when he initially put his thumb in me, he was not gentle about it, and it shocked me. It was an automatic reaction that I scooted away from him, from that pain, but afterwords I remember thinking that I better not do that again because I might make him mad, and I didn't want to make him mad.
There is just so much shit going on in my head, all blended in together. Different things that he did to me, to my sisters, the feelings of the house like it was a breathing, living nightmare, with the enormity and reality of it all hitting me. Why the hell would I want to deliberately remember this shit, think of it, why!! I mean, I know that it is a way of dealing with it, working through it with EMDR, but gosh, it is going to be hard, and I just don't know if I want to go there especially with someone watching for my reaction.
So, here I am remembering, and once again it is making me sick, once again I want to hide under a rock. Once again I find myself wondering why the hell I was ever born, and wishing that I was not.
I think non-existence would be so much easier.
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